She’s way past numbers,
He’s given up counting;
Their eyes, their lives
So full of history’s snow
Neither can remember the
Last time they
Enjoyed the silver powder thunder.
She can’t hear what the one-armed drummer is saying,
He just can’t quite recognise tune the blue guitarist is playing:
Does either of them realise,
Does either of them care any more, that
It’s the doll-devil they’re paying?
Hey-ho, there’s just one letter’s difference
Between the bomb
And the final, sad, slip-away mistake.